Kids in a Play
by Metarie
Summary: Everyone else thinks it's funny. For some reason, she can't figure out why... McCoy/Chapel. One shot. Written for an "accidentally got married" prompt on LJ.


_**Disclaimer: Not mine.  
A/N: Slightly edited version of what I've got posted on my LJ. Rated for language and suggestiveness.**_

* * *

"Does it feel hot in here to anyone else," asks Christine, because she's sweating, her face is flushed and stray strands of hair are starting to plaster down across her forehead and god, _god,_ what is wrong with everyone else? They're staring at her as she fans herself, which she's only doing because she can't stop moving her hands, but something must be wrong with them because it's so hot and no one else seems to notice.

Kirk starts saying something about temporarily honoring the cultural traditions of the natives and he claps Len on the shoulder as he's trying not to laugh, and Spock agrees because it is the most logical way to establish peace and trade relations with them and in part of her mind Christine thinks she gets it, really, she does, but when she got up that morning and read the away mission briefing she hadn't expected to end up married to her boss. Her extremely grumpy, snarly, ruggedly handsome boss who is currently standing next to her clenching and unclenching his teeth and his fists in an apparent attempt to restrain himself from punching out his superior officer for being such a dick about this.

"Look, it's not like anybody anywhere else in the universe is going to formally recognize it," Kirk says, but it isn't really reassuring because they aren't anywhere else in the universe, they are here, on this strange backwater and tropically hot - god it is so hot, it can't just be her - planet where by some strange and confusing turn of events she and Leonard McCoy are now man and wife. Christine wants to laugh, isn't sure why she's not laughing, knows she would be laughing if it were happening to anybody else, but it's her and it's _Len,_ and so somehow the humor is lost on her.

Which is unfortunate, because if the way Kirk can't stop bursting out laughing every two minutes is any indication, the whole situation is pretty fucking funny.

-

They face the music. There's a lot of music. There's also a lot of strange and confusing tribal dancing that they're expected to learn on the spot, and as she's spinning around with her arms in the air Christine tries desperately to remember how they got into this mess. But there's also a lot of deliciously intoxicating wine, and the memory eludes her.

-

Afterwards they're in a room, a chamber, or something, and what it lacks in modern amenities it makes up for in decadence. Christine sees nothing that isn't colored some shade of red and the bed is gigantic, _gigantic,_ she thinks she could drown in it somehow, it's a sea of red silk and satin.

They've been shut in this room for one purpose, and Christine looks everywhere but at him because she's drunk enough to do something really, really stupid if she's not careful.

"I'll sleep on the floor," Len says abruptly. "You take the bed." And he finds some extra blankets and a pillow and makes himself comfortable.

She doesn't sleep for a long time, because the bed is so, so big and the floor is so, so far away and she hears him snoring softly, and she's thinking about sharing and how it would have been logical.

-

The next morning the door is still locked, and no matter how much Len shouts at it it doesn't budge. When a servant or whatever they're called here brings food they both accost him, demanding to know what's going on, and the alien with wild hair and ridges running all over his face tells them they can't leave until, well, apparently until things have been _consummated._

Christine wonders how much longer this is supposed to be funny.

-

Len spends the next hour ranting at everything, turning the room upside down searching for a camera or a listening device or even just a peephole, he says, it could be anything, you never know with these things, these aliens.

Christine sits on the bed and tries to work through her mortification.

-

"How do they know," Len sputters, because he didn't find anything.

"Can't we just ask to be beamed out?"

They call the _Enterprise_ but all they get is another lecture from Spock on Starfleet policy and learn from Kirk that if they fuck this up, apparently they could sever all trade relations with these people and the Federation will lose access to many valuable and untouched dilithium mines.

"No pressure," says Kirk.

"Jim. They want us to..." Len trails off, because obviously the whole bridge crew is listening to this conversation, and it's already embarrassing enough without coming out and actually saying it.

There's a pause, a long pause, and Christine imagines Kirk wracked with silent laughter, and when he talks again she thinks she was right because his voice is filled with barely concealed mirth. "Well, figure something out, Bones," he says. "Kirk out."

-

"We could pretend," Christine suggests. "Maybe they just need to... hear..." _the sounds of intercourse,_ is how the rest of that sentence would have gone, but she's finding it difficult to maintain any sort of professionalism at this juncture. But as stupid as it sounds, if it works....

"All right," Len says finally, and Christine wonders if he was trying not to laugh just then - there's a lot of that going around - or if he ever laughs at anything with anything other than disdain, wonders when the last time it was that he had any fun at all. He always looks so tense, so frustrated, so annoyed all the time, and Christine wonders if it isn't because he's afraid of people or something. She understands - people, they get close, they get inside, they scramble you up. And then they might leave.

Christine climbs up on the bed, bounces experimentally and is rewarded with a satisfyingly loud creak.

"Oh, doctor," she says, as sultry as possible. "Oh... ohh!"

Len stares at her, dumbfounded almost, even though he'd just agreed to this plan of attack, like maybe he expected them to talk about it first? Choreograph it? But she's just up here on the bed, moaning, biting her lip to keep from laughing because was there any Starfleet training for faking sex noises? No. And did they go into space ever expecting to give a performance like this for a bunch of pervy aliens? Also a no.

"Well, come on, Len," Christine says. "I can't do this by myself."

He shakes his head, and finally he laughs because it's the only logical reaction to have at this point.

-

Soon they're both jumping up and down on the bed like a couple of kids, making ridiculous sounds Christine is pretty certain she's never made during sex before, but it's not like the aliens know that, hopefully.

As they finish they collapse on the bed in fits of uncontrollable giggling - yes, giggling, the term applies to both of them, and Christine thinks this might have all been worth it just for the experience of hearing Dr. McCoy giggle. They're crying tears of embarrassed hysterical laughter and their sides ache.

When they can breathe again, Len asks, "do you think they fell for it?"

"Well," she says, wiping her eyes. "Maybe."

-

They don't fall for it.

"Goddammit," says Len. "How the fuck can they know?"

Christine shakes her head. She doesn't say anything, because it's not like she wasn't hoping for that.

-

"You know," she says, after a while. "There's really only one way out of this." _Logical,_ she thinks. _Be logical._

"No," he says immediately. He's an angry caged animal pacing the room. "No. You don't have to do that. You don't have to do a damn thing you don't want to do."

"What makes you think I don't want to," she mumbles, inaudibly, because god, what if he hears her? What if every late night fantasy she'd had over the last three years came true? How fucking _terrifying_ would that be?

-

They've been there for hours now and he's sitting on the floor by the door and she's trying not to stare at him, trying not to think about how much she'd like it if he stood up and came over to the bed and just kissed her, ran his hands all over her and made love to her on this monstrosity of a bed - but she knows she would like it too much, knows without knowing that she would want it again - but they were kidnapped, more or less, held against their will, and only one logical way out -

Christine stands suddenly, forces herself to walk over to him before she loses her nerve, and looks down at him with what she hopes is a calm and collected expression on her face. He regards her warily.

"Doctor," she says.

"Nurse..."

"We both want to go home."

"Yeah..."

"We both know there's only one solution here, and there's no use in avoiding it any longer."

"Look, Chapel - "

"It's the only logical thing to do! It's... for the good of the Federation," she says lamely. What a line. She'll have to remember that one.

"Is that so?" Len stands, and now he towers over her. He's standing very close.

"Yes." _He can be very intimidating,_ she thinks, faintly. When he _looms_ like that. He sort of invades your personal space with a look; he doesn't have to move to make you feel his presence. His incredibly steaming hot gorgeous intelligent doctor presence -

Christine gulps.

"That's why we should have sex," he clarifies. "Because it's what the Federation would want."

Christine chews her lip, crossing her arms because she feels defensive because he's making her feel sort of stupid. "Yes," she says, as defiantly as her last remaining shred of dignity will allow.

"How romantic," he drawls.

"Well, I can seduce you, if you want," she hears herself saying, from another part of her body that is not in control of keeping her mouth from uttering crazy things. _Oh god oh god oh god oh please don't make me seduce you I don't know why I just said that -_

Len stares at her. "That's the strangest thing any woman has ever said to me."

"What's it going to take, Len?" She even stamps her foot when she says this, because good goddammit she'd been cooped up with this marvelous specimen of a man for almost an entire day now and she'd worked herself up to this, in more ways than one. She wanted to. She'd wanted to for a long time, really, since she met him if she's being honest, and sometimes she's felt like maybe he wanted to, too, but the way he's looking at her now she's not so sure. "Don't you want to?"

"What I want has nothing to do with it."

_Such a gentleman,_ she thinks. So full of good old fashioned values. Christine wonders what she thinks about this.

"Fuck that," she says, decidedly. "What you want has everything to do with it."

Apparently, this was all he needed to hear.

-

Afterwards they dress themselves, they're clumsy and embarrassed again, constantly embarrassed, she's laughing at everything and he can't stop running his hand through his hair.

They try the door. Mercifully, it's unlocked. They step outside only to be accosted by a choir of natives, singing again, and she thinks _oh dear god, please no more dancing, I just want to go home, why can't this be over,_ but then the tribal leader comes up to them, beaming, and says "Come! A feast for fertility!" and dances off and they're clearly supposed to follow him.

"You have got to be fucking kidding me," says Christine.

Len shakes his head. "Well, let's just be logical about this, Chris," he says, putting an arm around her shoulders. "You're hungry, right?"

* * *

**_Let me know what you think! 3_**


End file.
